Grouchy
by Vanilla Blue Sky
Summary: Why in the world Booth is so grouchy this morning? And does Brennan have the answer to cheer him up from his 'funk? Rating is subject to change...possibly dramaticly.


_**This is my second attempt at Bones Fanfiction. I enjoyed the experience so much last time that I couldn't wait to start writing again. But life, as you know, waits for no one and exams needed to be studied for and then written. Though when this thought hit me, I couldn't stop writing and even though I still have exams to study for I had to get this out of my system. **_

_**There will be more to come with this story, I'm trying to write more then just one shots, but that's usually all that comes to me. Oh well, I write what I can, and I hope its good enough for you.**_

_**I also loved all the reviews and favouriting that went on for my last story 'How could she know?' and I think I may be a little addicted to it. Which I guess is good incentive to write. Hooray!!**_

_**Please enjoy.**_

_**Disclaimer: If I owned Bones, I would have Booth chained to my bed. However, seeing as I do not, this all becomes a moot point.**_

* * *

Grouchy 

"What are you so groochy about?"

"It's grouchy, Bones. Grouchy. Not groochy. And I'm not grouchy, or groochy for that matter."

"Yes you are. You've hardly said one word since I got in the car and usually I get at least a 'Hi Bones!!' in the morning." complained said Bones who was currently seated beside Booth in the SUV.

"Ya, well my favourite socks have been stolen. And forgive me if I'm a little upset about it." Booth's fingers clenched around the steering wheel in an attempt to control his anger. Although he was not really angry with Bones, he was more upset that he had somehow lost his favourite pair of socks. There was no plausible reason why they would not be in his overflowing sock drawer, but no matter how much he had searched, he hadn't found them.

"You don't have to get all sharky on me Booth. I'm not the one who stole them!"

"Its snarky, Bones."

"Whatever it is, your still being it. And I for one don't like it. Man it up and stop complaining, it's just a pair of socks."

"But their my favourite socks Bones!" he wined.

She just gave him a look which said 'If you say that one more time I will show you the three kinds of karate I know' and that effectively shut him up on the subject. "Now, tell me about this new case."

* * *

Brennan walked determinedly to the platform of the Jefersonian Medico-Legal Lab in the forensics department. Her forensics department. Ok well it was technically Cam's lab, but Brennan had been there much longer and she really was very good at what she did. Not that Cam didn't do a good job too. But Brennan was better. And her work was just way cooler, and a lot less smelly, then Cam's.

In Brennan's opinion at least.

Hodgins and Angela were standing relatively close together on the platform when Brennan reached it to swiped her card through the security device. She could easily tell, even with her limited social skills, that they were flirting. She couldn't understand why they broke up in the first place. They obviously had a thing for each other still, as much as Angela said that they couldn't have a relationship without trusting each other.

Don't get her wrong, Brennan thought they were right, you couldn't have any kind of relationship without trust, but you could always learn to trust someone. It may take some time, but it could be done. She should know.

"So have my remains arrived yet." asked Brennan. "I had them sent over from the site. I wasn't able to determine as of yet, whether or not this was a homicide just from the quick scan I had. There were too many fleshy parts, but I'm sure that Cam can take care of that quite well."

"No, they haven't made it here yet, but we did get the call from one of the FBI on scene that they should be arriving within the hour." replied Angela.

"Oh, well in that case I think I might retire to my office. , alert me of their arrival as soon as they get here." she asked. "I want to get to work on them poncho."

"Its pronto, Bones. You're missing an 'n' in there."

"Oh, I always wondered why a Peruvian garment had anything to do with timing."

"It doesn't Bones." Booth had just walked in from the glass doors that led to and from the lab. He had a sour look on his face and a slouch in his shoulders.

"Whoa, G-man. What has your panties in a twist?"

"If you must know, someone stole my favourite socks."

"Stole?" Angela inquired.

"Yes stole."

"Are you not an FBI agent? And a special one at that, a fact you frequently like to rub in my face." Brennan replied haughtily. "Wouldn't you know if someone broke into you home and stole a pair of your socks? And if that is the case, why wouldn't they steal something more valuable then socks?"

"Ok, fine, I misplaced them. They're probably around somewhere. I just didn't have enough time to look for them this morning. I was running late as it was because my alarm clock didn't do off, and then I had to drop Parker off at school, and to top it all off, it's a Monday."

"What do Mondays have to do with your unfortunate day?" Brennan asked. She had a dumbfounded expression on her face, like she couldn't understand why anyone would ever hate getting up on a Monday.

"Its Monday Bones, no one likes Mondays. You know, the weekends over, you have to go back to work, its days until the weekend is back again."

"I happen to like going to work."

"Don't I know it."

"And its only five days until the weekend again, unless you don't count Friday as some people consider it to be the weekend at the end of the work day." Booth could here a rant coming. "And then Monday is now almost half finished, so if we were to be accurate, then it is only approximately ninety-six hours until Saturday." Brennan concluded.

"Bones . . .!" he loudly moaned in frustration, dragging out her nickname in a effort to convay just how much he didn't want to hear her explain the semantics of Monday to weekend ratio.

"I thought that it would cheer you up to know that there is considerably less time to wait for the weekend then you previously thought." She wondered. "Isn't that why you are so upset?"

"Come on Bones, no! That's not why I'm upset." Complained a now frustrated Booth. "I want my favourite socks back! That's why I'm so upset."

"Why don't you just go out and but another pair of 'favourite socks'? I'm sure you could easily find pair that you like."

"That's not the problem Bones. You can't just find a favourite pair of socks. I have been through a lot with those guys. We've caught a lot of bad guys together."

"Honestly Booth," interrupted Angela, who had been watching this escalating scene with amusement. "You need to get over this. Their just socks. And if you're really that broken up about it, why don't you take an early lunch and go look for them?"

"I think I might just do that. I've done it before. Well, not for these circumstances, but still, it shouldn't be a problem."

­­­­­­­­­­­

* * *

"Let me guess, it was a problem?"

Bones hadn't even looked up when Booth walked in five minutes after making that "it shouldn't be a problem" statement. She didn't need to look up from her newly arrived bones, to know that he was not going home any time soon.

"You got that right."

"And let me guess, Cullen ripped you a new one for even asking?"

"Of all the pop culture statements you could have picked up, you had to pick up that one didn't you?" Booth's shoulders slumped in disappointment. "And yes, he did."

* * *

She turned the key in the lock and heard the click as the mechanisms inside released the door for her. Opening it up, she left it ajar for Booth to walk through also. She removed her shoes and absentmindedly took Booth's jacket from him to hang up in the closet while he closed the door, locked it again and then flopped tiredly onto her couch. One arm was rested dramatically over his eyes in an expression of his fatigue and the other was hanging off the couch and almost brushed the floor. Although his head was comfortably resting on the arm of the couch, such was his length that his legs still over reached the other end of the sofa substantially.

"Hey Booth?"

He grunted in answer.

"I'm going to go get changed out of my work clothes." Brennan informed him while trying to hold back a laugh at his antics. "Don't start acting like a drama queen before I get back, ok. Then we can make some dinner"

He grunted again.

Booth heard her walk across the hardwood floor to her bedroom. Her door closed quietly and he heard her rummaging around in her drawers searching, he assumed, for something more comfortable then the pant-suit she wore for work.

It was a few relatively quiet moments before he heard her re-emerge from her room. Her gentle foot falls came near him. He kept his arm over his eyes. "Hey Booth, you awake?"

He grunted again.

She laughed this time. "I'm going to start dinner, come help me when you're ready to leave my couch."

She walked toward the kitchen and started to remove some pots and pans in preparation for dinner which he knew would be his favourite. Mac and Cheese. She made no effort, he noticed, to be quite in her quest to make food. Realizing he should take her hint and not fall asleep, he leisurely raised his arm off his eyes in preparation to stand up. Slowly, he pealed himself off the couch and went to join her in the kitchen knowing that there wouldn't be much he could do to help her with dinner. He might not be a disaster in the kitchen, but neither was he a master chef, so he left most of the cooking up to Bones in an effort to not ruin their dinner.

"You finally rejoining the land of the living?"

"Yep. Just for you, and this amazing dinner to be."

"I'm flattered Booth. But dinner is almost ready anyway. Why don't you go clear off the coffee table instead of standing around like a bump and a branch, so we can eat there. I don't feel like eating at the dinner table tonight." Brennan asked without turning around. "Unless of course, you would like to eat more formally."

"Its bump on a log, Bones. And no, the coffee table is fine for me. I don't care where my stomach gets filled, as long as it does."

"Good, you know where the plates and cutlery are."

He did.

They had done this so many times before that it felt like second nature for him to reach to the left and grab the large white plates and bowls, a few napkins, then reach down to grab two forks and add those to the pile. The bowls he left near Bones so they could be filled when dinner was ready and the rest he took with him to the living room. After clearing off the table, he placed the plates on opposite sides with the napkins and forks beside them.

By the time he had finished, he could hear Bones filling up the bowls with her delicious concoction and walking over to him. As she walked over Booth go his first good look at her since she had changed. Her hair was hanging around her shoulders, as she must have taken it out of her usual bun or ponytail. She wore a fitted white tank top that showed off her curves without being overly provocative. On her legs she wore she cut-off sweat pants which she used during workouts. They came just above the knee and left the rest of her leg exposed below that.

Or at least they should have.

However, she also wore socks. But there was something odd about them. Not only were they not her usual white, sensible socks, but they were not even hers. And how did he know this. Well, because they were none other then his own favourite socks that he had been franticly looking for this very morning.


End file.
